Never since the Ironborn were subdued by Robert Baratheon had Paxter Redwyne felt so defeated.
The last time he had been chased was by Victarion of the Iron Islands, who commanded the Iron Islands fleet to pursue the feigned Redwyne fleet—only for them to stumble into Stannis Baratheon's trap and be utterly crushed by the Royal Fleet.
Today, the memory repeated itself, but the target pursued by the Fury was now the Queen Arbor.
In a straightforward battle, Lord Redwyne would not have feared the larger but fewer ships of Dragonstone. Using nimble, numerous sailboats, he could execute flanking and pincer maneuvers to encircle the enemy and, at a measured cost, crush the rebel naval force. That was how, before reaching King's Landing, he had forced the Dragonstone fleet to retreat at the entrance of Blackwater Bay.
But this was no straightforward engagement. The enemy had appeared unexpectedly, and in the first clash, they had used their size and overwhelming firepower to split the Redwyne fleet in two, cutting off mutual support. Behind them, the Fury continued its relentless pursuit.
In these circumstances, there was no possibility for a counterattack. Retreat was the only choice.
The Queen Arbor plowed through the green waves, its three immense burgundy sails full of the sea wind. On deck, the horn blower emptied his lungs to signal the retreat, and soon, more warships of Arbor trailed the flagship.
Paxter Redwyne raised his telescope and scanned the battlefield left behind. At least a third of the warships marked with purple grapes were aflame. Fifty or sixty vessels had been captured by the enemy, including several with over a hundred oars each. The remaining ships had fled in chaos, evading Lysene pirates as they retreated toward Blackwater Bay. Even the greedy Salladhor Saan could not seize them all. Only a dozen or so ships had kept pace with the Queen Arbor.
This catastrophic defeat pierced Paxter Redwyne's heart like a dagger. These were the assets House Redwyne had amassed over millennia—the lifeblood of their maritime trade. One small misstep, and half the fleet was lost.
Before the voyage, Tywin Lannister had warned that Dragonstone might already be aware of the operation. Paxter had not taken it seriously, though he had sent fast sailboats to monitor the approaches to Tidewood Island and Dragonstone and positioned vanguards. Still, he had never expected the enemy to strike from the opposite side of Crab Island, ambushing him at the most inevitable point.
"The orders of the Small Council are transparent glass—the enemy knows our plan before I do. When this battle ends, Tywin will owe me an explanation!"
Paxter's eyes blazed with fury as he searched for the Fury behind them. Stannis Baratheon was nowhere in sight. Instead, a man in an old green cloak and simple leather armor held the captain's position. Paxter did not know him, but the seasoned, weathered face spoke of a sailor who had spent his life at sea.
He scowled. "Change course—east, into the Narrow Sea."
The first mate hesitated. "My lord, cumulus clouds are forming eastward. Stars are obscured. A storm may await us in the Narrow Sea."
"I know," Redwyne replied, glaring at the relentless Fury and the few hundred-oar ships trailing them. A vast, dark shadow loomed in the distance.
"Sound the horn. All warships, head east. Crab Claw is a dead end. If we enter, there's no escape. Gulltown may offer shelter, but not for all our ships. East we go—Braavos, along the coast of Essos to Pentos, and then, at an opportunity, back to King's Landing."
He gritted his teeth. "Though the mission failed, House Redwyne has not. We will weather the storm and return!"
The Queen Arbor turned gracefully on the waves, with the other warships following under the sound of horns.
"They intend to flee into the Narrow Sea, hoping the storm will shake us off," Davos Seaworth noted, quickly analyzing the situation. Pursuing them meant a high chance of capturing Paxter Redwyne alive—a prize for the king—but also a far greater risk of being caught in the storm.
In the chaos of the waves, even the largest ships were insignificant, their survival subject entirely to the gods. Davos judged that his luck had run its course. His main mission—to intercept the Redwyne fleet and prevent Gulltown from ferrying the Vale army to the Crownlands—had succeeded. Once the storm passed, all he needed was to patrol Crab Claw's entrance.
Cautious as ever, he watched the southern dark clouds grow across half the sky before decisively ordering a return to port.
---
Gulltown
Outside the city, life bustled. Banners fluttered in the wind, and squads of soldiers, led by standard-bearers, gathered in orderly fashion. Elite infantry in armor carried shields and swords. Excited youths rode plow horses, wielding pitchforks, mingling with farmers. Undisciplined free riders and wandering knights joined the scene, while stern-faced, experienced knights arrived with retainers.
Early arrivals set up camp; latecomers climbed distant hills in search of space. Lords and renowned knights had been invited inside the city and already settled.
Lord Gerold Grafton, Gulltown's ruler and a staunch supporter of Petyr Baelish, had even sent his youngest son, Gyles, to the Eyrie as a foster child. Loyal to the Iron Throne, he would ensure every effort was made.
From Gull Tower, Lord Royce of Runestone scanned the naturally sheltered harbor, nearly a hundred ships bobbing in the water. Docks had been cleared, and banners bearing Tommen I's black crowned stag and golden roaring lion fluttered proudly.
The Redwyne fleet had failed to arrive on time, but another force had reached Crab Claw first—the Small Council's Master of Coin, Kevan Lannister. Over a hundred soldiers followed a white banner depicting three black ravens clutching a blood-red heart: House Corbray of Heart's Home.
"My lord, the Duke of Harrenhal has sent someone to invite you to a meeting," reported Ser Damon Shett, a knight of House Shett.
Bronze Yohn Royce, observing quietly, nodded in acknowledgment. He had no need for the hospitality of House Grafton or the manipulations of Littlefinger.
The meeting room of House Grafton was crowded, the lords and knights of the Vale filling the space. Heirs and younger knights squeezed into corners, listening as Petyr Baelish and Kevan Lannister relayed the Iron Throne's arrangements—provisions, battle duration, and payment terms had all been coordinated by Tywin. Now, only instructions were being delivered.
Kevan announced: "Once the Vale army reaches King's Landing, Lord Tywin will command as Marshal. Ser Adam Marbrand will assist you in battle. He is heir to the Lord of Castamere, has fought many battles, and once commanded the City Watch. He is experienced."
The words sounded well-meaning, but their true purpose was clear: Ser Adam Marbrand was Tywin's eyes and voice, controlling the Vale soldiers. Most lords recognized the implication. Displeasure and murmurs spread among the attendees.
Bronze Yohn stepped forward. The soldiers of the Vale should be commanded by their own generals. Ser Kevan, momentarily surprised, did not argue but looked to Petyr Baelish for guidance.
Petyr smiled gently. "As subjects, we obey the Hand of the King, but I understand your concerns. Runestone was initially unwilling, but the Hand has decided, and as subjects, we obey."
Bronze Yohn ignored the gentle rebuke. In the Vale, allies were many, and few were willing to fight to the death for the Iron Throne. Many preferred to fight only when victory was assured. If Lannisters commanded the army, twenty thousand Vale soldiers would likely become cannon fodder.
Lady Anya Waynwood of Iron Oaks, advanced in years with gray hair and wrinkled skin, spoke up. She had come to bid farewell to her son, Morton Waynwood.
"During Robert's Rebellion, we followed the old Duke across the Trident, through Stone Hedge, all the way to King's Landing. Must we still rely on knights from the Westerlands now? The young Lord is inexperienced, Lady Lysa remains behind, and the Defender of the Vale is unfamiliar with battlefield matters. Let us choose a general we trust."
She nodded to Petyr, who returned a polite, awkward smile.
"Lord Royce is the natural choice," she continued. "A renowned tourney knight, once fought alongside the old Duke, his house upholds honor. His son Waymar volunteered for the Night's Watch. Under his command, rebels of the Stormlands would flee at the mere mention of his name."
Approval rippled through the room. "Yes, let Bronze Yohn lead us!" "The army of the Vale should be commanded by Vale generals!"
The knights knew him, and more importantly, he would not send them to die for Lannisters.
Faced with the consensus, Ser Kevan could not refuse outright. He scrutinized Bronze Yohn, concealed his anger, and nodded reluctantly. "I will report everything to Lord Tywin upon my return. He will decide."
Lady Waynwood, satisfied with the lords' approval, let the matter rest. Lord Jon Royce, surprised, did not understand her support but accepted it graciously. For the Vale lords to recommend him, he could ask for nothing more.
---
Full book àvàilàble óñ pàtreøn (Gk31)